Recently there has been a movement, spearheaded by Stephen Yaxley-Lennon (the football hooligan and racist rabble-rouser known as Tommy Robinson) and his associates  to fly both British and English flags off buildings and lampposts, as well as the more traditional flagpoles, pretty much wherever they are. The campaign has been accompanied by the usual claims from Reform supporters and the like on GB News that anyone who objects is a snob, or a woke lefty who despises the ‘real’ white working class. Matt Goodwin posted a video taken from a car driving down a street in Rednall, on the south-western outskirts of Birmingham, in which flags had been attached to every lamppost (in this case Union flags; in other cases they have been St George’s Crosses or a combination of the two), and in the accompanying tweet called it “act of resistance against mass uncontrolled immigration, broken borders, the decision by politicians to house illegal migrants in the heart of their communities, and the loss of their national identity”.

The other day I saw a video, on a motorcycling channel on YouTube, titled “Does the Saint George’s flag offend you??”. The simple answer to this is no. (YouTube apparently blacks out any flags that are posted by emoji in the comments; this was assumed to apply only to that flag.) But the context and atmosphere in which these flags are being posted does. We have seen footage of louts painting flags on other people’s property, while racially abusing Asian people who just happened to drive onto the scene to do shopping. We have seen footage of council workers being assaulted, in one case by someone trying to remove the ladder he was standing on, while removing unauthorised flags or just while working on the pole or mast the flag was attached to. If flags are flown from public property such as lampposts and not attached properly, they can become a safety hazard, for example by falling into a cyclist’s or motorcyclist’s face, obscuring their vision; if they just fall off, they become litter. In many cases the flags were the wrong way up, representing a signal of distress, not a show of pride. It’s quite right that some councils want to remove unauthorised flags; it doesn’t mean they “hate the English” or “despise the working class”. It means they want to keep their districts clean and looking civilised, and keeping their character.

In a recent debate at the London Assembly, a Tory assembly member named Emma Best, having made some now common accusations that “the Left — people like you, people like the mayor — exaggerate and lie about members of the Right, and this … will lead to more violence” (having already mentioned the murder of Charlie Kirk), suggested that the best way to ‘reclaim’ the St George’s flag would be to fly it at City Hall and across the GLA and TfL (Greater London Authority and Transport For London) estate. The deputy mayor did not answer the question adequately, mumbling about how she had been born here and supported the English football team, and thought that Britain at its best was seen in the Second World War and in the welcoming of refugees from Ukraine, as “a place of inclusion and tolerance”. The TfL estate consists of things like railway stations and depots as well as bus and tram stations and maintenance depots; a brief glance at the Google Street View images of many TfL rail stations shows that they do not have flagpoles. Of those I looked at, only Embankment had one, and sometimes this was empty and sometimes it carried the Union flag. To fly flags at stations would require flagpoles to be installed, which would cost a lot of money that could be spent on improving the service; station staff also have enough to do without having to worry about raising or lowering flags when it’s deemed appropriate.

But the other answer to Emma Best’s question is that the flying of flags is something we do on special occasions, to celebrate or to commemorate. Aside from government buildings, and at military bases and the like, we see them at war memorials as well as on village greens. Companies use it to indicate a British product, though this can often mean British design rather than British manufacture. We do, of course, see flags flying when a British sports team is in an international tournament and when it is the English football team, the flag will be the English one. However, there is nothing traditional in this country about flying flags everywhere and attaching them to every lamppost, least of all by people who do not know how to fly them properly, and the persistent display of flags outside of competitions has a menacing overtone, reminiscent of its use for sectarian purposes in places like Northern Ireland. And it’s nothing for us to be proud of to have thugs roaming the streets, waving flags in people’s faces who didn’t ask for it, painting them on other people’s property without permission and then attacking or threatening council workers who try to remove them, or anyone they meet who looks different from them. It’s not a spontaneous display of national pride; it’s an ugly wave of incivility and thuggery from the worst of British.

Democratic leaders in US House ignore constituents on Palestinian rights as Trump targets activists for those rights.

More than 1,000 Palestinians arrested in occupied West Bank city of Tulkarm in one day.

Rubio Visits Jerusalem

The United States set out a revealing, if thoroughly predictable, stance this week after Israel’s strikes on an American-requested negotiation with Hamas at Qatar. American Secretary of State Marco Rubio visited Jerusalem and reaffirmed his support for the Israeli regime and commitment to the removal of the same Hamas with whom Doha had been facilitating talks. It is unclear what reception Rubio will get as Qatar meets with other Gulf states to discuss its response to the Israeli attacks.

Pattern of Israeli Attacks on Negotiators

Yahya Sinwar (right) and Ismail Haniyeh (left) attending the funeral of Hamas official Mazen Foqaha in Gaza City on March 25, 2017.

The Israeli attack on Doha marked another case where Israel struck at negotiators under American protection. In summer 2024, Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh, who led negotiations, was assassinated in Tehran after having already lost much of his family as an Israeli pressure tactic.

A year later, Israel interrupted American negotiations over Iran’s nuclear program by wiping out the Iranian military command—almost including chief negotiator Ali Shamkhani, who was initially reported to have been killed but survived—and then inciting the United States into an ill-conceived assault on Iran.

What makes this attack different is that it took place in a Gulf state that is nominally an ally of the United States, even as Israel has repeatedly flared at its diplomacy with Hamas.

Qatar’s Mediation History

Though Israel, and such sympathetic regimes as the United Arab Emirates, have often accused Qatar of backing “radical Islam” – a buzzword for any remotely independent form of Muslim politics -, in fact, Qatar’s mediation has often been done at American insistence.

In 2012, for instance, Barack Obama’s government requested that Doha take in Hamas’ civilian leadership, which was then distinguished from its military command, in an effort to break up the group between its exterior and interior leadership. A year later, Qatar was used as the venue for a Taliban diplomatic office as the United States attempted to wedge between the Taliban’s “interior” and “exterior” leadership as well as draw the group away from Pakistan.

It was Doha that ended up mediating a ceasefire between the United States and Taliban in 2020, which only collapsed after prevarication from Washington and a Taliban assault that captured Afghanistan a year later.

A Trap for Hamas Negotiators

Indeed, the Hamas negotiating team led by Khalil Hayya was essentially lured into a trap: having been promised negotiations, they and their Qatari hosts were instead subjected to an Israeli attack of which the United States could not have plausibly been unaware. Such niceties as diplomacy are, of course, irrelevant to an Israel that treats not only Hamas but Palestinians at large as a virus to be expunged in its ongoing genocide, but it is also clear that the United States is quite content to let Tel Aviv run amok even at the cost to its reputation.

Rubio, an especially ardent Zionist who cut his teeth by arguing that Obama was insufficiently committed to an Israel that actually thrived on his protection, has unsurprisingly been an enthusiastic cheerleader of whatever Tel Aviv does and is more committed to censoring criticism of Israel among his populace.

Qatar’s Ambiguous Role in American Power

Qatar and the American military base.

Qatar has played an ambiguous but important role in the American balance of power. On the one hand, unlike “more-loyal-than-the-king” regimes such as Abu Dhabi, it hosts political leaders from various Islamist groups and occasionally flirts with anti-autocratic Islamists such as the Muslim Brethren; on the other, it hosts the largest American base in the region, Udaid.

It has long been argued that this would protect Doha against a backlash of precisely the sort that the United States has just permitted from Israel. This theory now stands exposed, and it was with unsurprising indignation that Qatari foreign minister Mohammad bin Abdul-Rahman announced Doha’s right to respond however they see fit.

 

Related:

– The Witkoff Massacre: Slaughter Of Starving Palestinians Undercuts Trump Pretensions

 

The post What A Rubio: United States Throws Weight Behind Israel After Aggression On Qatar appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

New report by the Sexual Violence Prevention Association also details systemic Israeli rape of Palestinians.

I often think of Sandra Bland. She was stopped for a minor traffic violation in Texas, arrested, and found dead in her jail cell three days later. The official story was suicide. Many of us never believed it. What we saw was a young Black woman silenced — her light extinguished, her death written off, her humanity erased by a system that preferred convenience over truth. 

I think of Sandra now because the world is watching something similar happen to Palestinians. They are being bombed, starved, displaced — and now, even silenced at the very stage where nations are supposed to speak. Recently, the United States barred Palestinian officials, including President Mahmoud Abbas, from attending the United Nations General Assembly in New York. The message is unmistakable: not only can Palestinians be denied their homes, their lives, and their futures — they can be denied even a voice. 

At the same time, nearly all Palestinians holding Palestinian Authority passports are now barred from traveling to the United States. This includes students, workers, and the sick in desperate need of medical treatment. Earlier this month, even humanitarian visas for critically ill children from Gaza were halted. Think about that: children who needed surgery, chemotherapy, or urgent care were told they could not enter the U.S. because of who they are. 

This is not just policy. It is not just “security.” It is erasure. 

The 1948 UN Genocide Convention defines genocide not only as killing members of a group, but also “causing serious bodily or mental harm” and “inflicting conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” What else do you call systematic starvation, denial of medical care, displacement, and silencing? What else do you call the banning of an entire people from the halls of the UN, where the world claims to uphold justice? 

This is genocide. 

Some will recoil at that word, insisting it is too extreme, too loaded. But if we are too afraid to name it, then we are complicit in its continuation.

Genocide does not happen only in gas chambers or on battlefields. It happens when a people are denied the right to live, to move, to heal, and finally, to speak. It happens not only with bombs but with paperwork, policies, and visa restrictions. 

And it happens most effectively when the world shrugs. 

I write this not only as a journalist, but as a Muslim who believes deeply that silence in the face of oppression is a betrayal of faith. The Qur’an tells us to stand firmly for justice, even against ourselves or our families. To watch Palestinians denied even a seat at the United Nations and say nothing would be to side with the oppressor. 

Sandra Bland’s face in that mugshot looked hollow, as if the life was already draining from her before the world declared her gone. Palestinians today are being made to look the same way — as if they are already erased, their voices already muted. But I know, as we all know, that they are alive, they are human, and they will not stop speaking. 

And so neither can we. 

If Palestinians are barred from traveling, then we must carry their stories. If they are denied the right to speak at the UN, then we must speak their names in every space we can. If their passports are deemed worthless, then we must remind the world that their humanity is priceless. 

Sandra Bland’s family still fights to this day for accountability, because they know the truth: she did not die by her own hand. She died because a system decided she did not matter. The same system is now telling Palestinians they do not matter. We cannot let that lie stand. 

To the readers of this piece, I ask: do not grow numb. Do not tell yourself this is politics too complicated for you to understand. It is not complicated to say that children deserve medicine. It is not complicated to say that a people deserve representation. It is not complicated to say that denying a whole nation the right to speak is not democracy — it is erasure. 

History will remember whether we looked away or whether we stood up. I pray we choose the latter.

Because when you silence a people, that is not security. That is not diplomacy. That is genocide.

 

Related:

– Watch, Learn, And Speak Out: Films And Documentaries About Palestine Made Available Online For Free

– The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth?: A Case For Fictionalizing Testimonies Of Atrocities

The post When You Silence A People, That Is Genocide appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Airdrops are “useless” and “dangerous,” with packages spilling open and falling in unpredictable spots, even the sea.

Charlie Kirk

I am not sure I knew of the existence of Charlie Kirk when he was assassinated in Utah last Wednesday. I saw a tweet from a Muslim account on Twitter which drew attention to his well-known (in the US maybe) stance on gun control, that a few gun-related deaths were worth it to keep Americans’ Second Amendment rights. He was killed by a sniper, believed to be a young man from a conservative Mormon family in southern Utah, as he held court under a marquee bearing his slogan “Prove Me Wrong!”. In the immediate aftermath, Trump and his supporters rushed to blame the “Radical Left”, trans activists and even the Democratic party for the murder, while mainstream Democrat politicians published videos condemning the killing. I saw plenty of content, however, which while not condoning the murder made no secret that they believed Kirk’s death was no tragedy, was nothing to mourn, or was a comeuppance for his pro-gun views. Meanwhile there are also people proclaiming themselves ‘grief-stricken’ by the killing and condemning anyone who does not share their grief, accusing them of condoning murder, or of “virtue signalling” while actually betraying a vicious streak.

Last Thursday, the day after Kirk’s murder, a British lawyer on YouTube calling himself the Black Belt Barrister uploaded a video in which he proclaimed, “regardless of your own personal views, I’m sure you all share a sense of shock, horror and for many of you, even if you didn’t know them, a profound sense of grief for the cowardly and unlawful killings of Charlie Kirk and, of course, Iryna Zarutska”. Iryna Zarutska was a Ukrainian refugee who was stabbed to death on a commuter train in Charlotte, North Carolina; racists have posted content alleging that the killing was part of a “race war”, drawing attention to the commuters who failed to act until it was too late (having seen the video, it does not appear that she was in danger of dying until she actually collapsed — she did not appear to be bleeding heavily, for example — and the killer was still in the carriage, armed). The two killings were entirely unconnected, the latter with no political motive, just a random killing by a man with a history of severe mental illness, and thousands of miles apart. He then goes on to accuse people who rail against the far right, racists etc., and accuse them of fostering hatred which leads to incidents like the murder of Charlie Kirk. All this before anything was known about who shot him. As for the reaction to Iryna Zarutska’s murder, the only vile or hateful comments I could see were those that implied that she was killed because the killer was Black and she was white, and that the others in the carriage (again mostly Black) did not spring to her aid for the same reason. There were comments like “don’t take your eyes off these people” as if every Black person was a madman looking to stab the next white person they see. All nonsensical, demented, racist drivel.

But I’m not grief-stricken about Kirk’s death. Not only because I didn’t know him, but also because he actually was a hateful, racist misogynist who also stood in the way of protecting children from violence. His last words, in response to a question from the audience about mass shootings in the US, were “counting or not counting gang violence?”: he was trying to divert the conversation onto Black-on-Black crime, which is mostly irrelevant to the matter of US mass shootings. His supporters want us to be empathetic to his wife and children, but he shows none to families who have lost loved ones, including children, to mass shootings. I am never going to be especially sad about the loss of a person like that. Gun control actually would not have saved him because the gun control being advocated in the USA relates to automatic or assault weapons, which does not appear to be what was used here, and better background checks and safety devices to prevent accidental discharge. Even in the UK, while we have had no school massacres since Dunblane in 1996, we have had a mass shooting by a sniper (the west Cumbria shootings of 2010). However, this was still a man who thought others’ right to their lives — schoolchildren and teachers — were worth much less than his own right to an automatic firearm capable of killing multiple people in seconds. While we may agree that his murder was wrong and that the killer should be punished, it stands to reason that when a person with such contempt for others’ lives loses his own, many people will not be especially aggrieved.

There has also been a chorus of disapproval at the mere use of words like racist and bigot to describe people who espouse racist and bigoted views. We are being told it creates the climate of hatred that leads to such acts as Charlie Kirk’s murder. History in fact shows that racism leads to violence to an extent that accusations of racism simply do not. With the exception of Cambodia, every genocide in recent times has been motivated principally by racism, as have countless other systems of oppression: chattel slavery, segregation, Apartheid. This is not to say that no injustice ever results from false accusations; we only have to look at the history of the Labour Party since 2015 to see that. But in this country at least, nobody died as a result of those false accusations of antisemitism (arguably it contributed to the Gaza genocide by making speaking out against it costly, especially in the first year or so, but nobody was killed because they were called antisemitic, even if they were expelled from a political party or even lost their job). Racism kills, both through direct violence and through the ways prejudice works its way into our police, education and health systems (deaths in custody, higher maternal mortality rates, etc) among other things. Many of the people coming out with this rhetoric are the same people who have been moaning about “cancel culture” for the past decade while enjoying columns in major newspapers, ample time in the broadcast media, ample representation in national and regional legislatures and so on; Kirk himself ran a “professor watch” website, ‘exposing’ academics he disagreed with, while his allies are now trying to drum people out of jobs for failing to manifest the required grief over his death, or repeating his less savoury opinions. These include a female primary school teacher who repeated his views about guns, a stance which results in people like her dying or seeing their pupils killed by young embittered men with guns no civilian can get hold of anywhere else, whose own congress representative joined the campaign to get her fired.

We’ve had nearly two years of watching a genocide on social media, with the most appalling acts of depravity and cruelty plain to see, obviously innocent people shot dead for no reason, doctors, nurses and ambulance staff murdered as they do their job (or the rest of their families killed while they work), stories from visiting medics of repeatedly seeing children shot in the head by snipers, journalists murdered and then slandered by their killers; some of those lecturing or trying to silence us have been “standing with Israel” all this time, openly excusing or justifying it, or even celebrating it and mocking the dead and those who fought heroically to save them — as Kirk himself is on video doing. These include the ‘moderate’ Democrats now publicly commiserating with the Trumpists and falling over themselves to distance themselves from political violence when it’s on American soil. These people have had the past two years to demonstrate the decorum they expect from us when a public figure is murdered; they did not care to do so then but they expect us to now. So, there will be no crocodile tears here. He was not killed by one of ours, but was an enemy of ours and had contempt for us. His death is no great loss and will not be mourned.

People are left to fend for themselves as Israel’s state-sponsored ethnic cleansing campaign turns sights on defenseless pastoral communities.

On art, starvation and the end of dreams during the genocide in Gaza.

Michael Mann has downplayed Gaza’s hunger crisis.

We speak with Craig Mokhiber about what the UN can do to intervene in Israel’s genocide. Nora Barrows-Friedman covers the latest news on Israel’s attack on Gaza City. Jon Elmer delivers news of the battle on the ground in Gaza. Asa Winstanley questions whether Jeremy Corbyn’s new UK party will be anti-Zionist. And Ali Abunimah shares recent actions by European countries to oppose the genocide.

The largest Palestinian diaspora outside the Arab world has worked for decades to maintain their identity and struggle against Zionism.

My father’s uncle, a living archive of Gaza history, died in July 2025 as a result of famine.

The fantasy genre has always called to me ever since I was a little girl. I loved the idea of magic and the supernatural, especially if the main character was a girl. These stories showed me how characters I could relate to could overcome difficulties with bravery, ingenuity, and support. Reading books was a brief escape from my challenging childhood home.

Some of my favourite fantasy authors were Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, and Ursula Le Guin. After much resistance, I eventually got into Tolkien and loved his lush prose. The common themes I loved throughout all the fantasy books were relatable characters facing impossible odds  (extra points for strong female characters!). I overlooked the fact that most, if not all, of these characters were default white.

Another unfortunate unifying theme that tied them together was the absence of the Islamic worldview. In the fantasy stories that I grew up consuming, there was no Necessary Being. There was either a total absence of the Divine, or human beings with supernatural powers instead of an Omnipotent God. This is still deeply concerning because every type of media we consume can either bring us closer to Allah or further away.  

Children and the Realm of Fantasy

The massive popularity and ongoing appeal of fantasy franchises like Harry Potter surely tell us something. Why do children like this genre so much? It’s exciting, interesting, and reminds us that there is more to this world than what we can understand with our senses. We know this as truth – the unseen realm and supernatural beings such as angels and jinn do exist.

“Fantasy novels are a creative expression of this curiosity about what we cannot explain through the material world alone.” [PC: Gabriela (unsplash)]

Human cultures across time and space have been intrigued by the Unseen, especially during eras that were not so oversaturated in technology. Once upon a time, our ancestors were so much more embedded in the natural world. In South East Asia, where I was born, it was common for humans to interact with jinn before Islam arrived on our shores. Alhamdulilah for the guidance of the Shari’ah, which forbade further contracts to be made with jinn, and instead, taught us to place our complete trust in Allah .

Fantasy novels are a creative expression of this curiosity about what we cannot explain through the material world alone. When fantasy novels are written by Muslims who love Allah and the Prophet , imagine the possibilities of the kinds of fantasy novels we can write. 

Conversations with Children about the Fantasy Genre

Beyond books, cartoons like K-Pop Demon Hunter are an incredible hit. This is an animated film about a K-pop girl band, who are secretly demon hunters, that must save their fans from a group of demons who have taken the form of a K-pop boy band.

My daughter watched the show with her friends during a playdate, and I made sure that we discussed it afterwards. That cartoon was a good opportunity to bring up a few points:

• Music really can make us forget about many things, including worship and the truth of the afterlife

• The depiction of the Underworld in that cartoon was false, compared to the truth of the different stages of our lives as humans: 
  • our souls being created
  • the world of the womb
  •  our life as human beings on earth
  •  our lives in the grave
  • Judgement Day
  •  our final destination in Jannah, inshaAllah. 

I am a big believer in talking to our children and listening to what they’re going through in every aspect of their lives – schoolwork, friends, Islamic studies, and media consumption. It’s not a good idea for parents to just let their kids watch or read whatever they like, as children are still developing their moral compass, spiritual understanding, and frontal lobe (the part of the brain that influences decision-making, emotional regulation, and personality). Cartoons, just like audiobooks, can be a family bonding activity and a good way to discuss reality versus fantasy. It’s an invaluable life lesson worth repeating: everything we consume can either bring us closer to Allah or further away.

It’s also never a good idea for parents – as tired as we often are – to mentally check out while our kids zone out to their favourite TV shows. We are responsible for nurturing them with praiseworthy habits, and in this day and age, a huge part of that is being aware of what kind of media they’re consuming.

We must talk to our kids about what they’re watching and teach them how to critically analyze the kind of themes the movies/books are teaching them, from both an Islamic and a healthy mindset point of view. This is how we can instill that active sense of learning in our kids from a young age, instead of allowing them to be default passive consumers. Teaching them the value of analyzing the media they consume might even encourage them to become God-centered creatives as well, if they are artistically inclined.

Writing My Own Fantasy Book

When I drafted my first middle-grade fantasy novel, How to Free A Jinn, I didn’t know if it would land a literary agent, let alone a publishing deal. I specifically wanted to write a fantasy novel from the Islamic worldview; the vast majority of fantasy novels I read have a total absence of Islam, and I wanted to add something beneficial to the existing body of fantasy literature. I wanted to write a book from the Muslim worldview, about a girl who has inherited the consequences of the pre-Islamic practice of making a contract with an ancestral jinn. I wanted readers to immerse themselves from a viewpoint I hadn’t read yet: a neurodiverse young Muslim girl who loves her faith, family, and culture. There’s nothing quite like seeing the lived experience of relatable characters on page.

For so many decades, I  have consumed media from characters from different worldviews. I wanted my own children, as well as other children, to experience something from my own worldview, for a change. It took less than a year to land my US literary agent, and at least another three more years before my Australian and then my American publisher took a chance on my book.
 I wanted other Muslim kids to see the love and bickering that happens in our families, and I wanted them to read about being only twelve and already facing hard decisions. Most of all, I wanted to write a character who made mistakes, but ultimately chose a path pleasing to Allah .

Book Reception

In Malaysia and Singapore, my book was incredibly well-received. So many of my readers shared that their families also had very similar jinn stories. It was so heartwarming to see young Malay girls cosplaying as Insyirah, my book’s main character, by wearing noise-cancelling headphones on top of their hijabs! To my surprise, there was a spectrum of reaction in Australia. Many Muslim readers and their families were very enthusiastic, because it was high time for our stories to get traditionally published. On the other hand, there were WhatsApp messages circulating, warning Muslim families not to read my book because it encouraged black magic – clearly, whoever started that rumor hadn’t even read my book!

How To Free A Jinn by Raidah Shah Idil

As my book will reach the US, Canada, and the UK at the end of this year, I hope and pray that the Islamic schools there will be more open to welcoming my book and the ensuing discussions in their schools. My book can actually be a launching pad for healthy discussions around the unseen, e.g., recognizing the difference between good jinn and bad jinn, staying away from sorcery, understanding the difference between mental illness and jinn possession, and, above all, turning back to Allah , always.

On the topic of jinn, a concerned Muslim parent asked me why I had ‘jinn’ in my title. I explained that the jinn stories in my novels could be taken literally, or metaphorically (ancestral trauma and resilience) – and either way, I didn’t want to mislead my readers by suggesting that my book was something that it wasn’t. There’s nothing inherently wrong with talking about jinn, as long as the actual lesson of the story is Islamic! I was shocked to learn that there are Muslim kids who honestly believe that Iblis is a fallen angel. I corrected this Christian misconception and taught them that angels do not ‘fall’ or sin, unlike jinn and humans. Iblis is a jinn who was elevated to the ranks of angels until he disobeyed Allah’s Command to prostrate to Prophet Adam .


Harnessing the Fantasy Genre To Influence Islam-Consciousness

Muslim children are already exposed to the fantasy genre at school and at home, either in books or through cartoons and movies. I believe in having proactive conversations with our children from a truth-based worldview. I also believe in writing our own high-quality fiction so both Muslim children and even non-Muslim children can enjoy reading our books, and perhaps one day, come to Islam too.

Reading fantasy novels is not the same as engaging in forbidden black magic. Those are two completely separate topics. If anything, a well-written fantasy novel can be a warning against engaging with black magic! If parents don’t feel equipped to have these conversations, then it’s time to learn and consult with experts who do. I’m not encouraging the outsourcing of hard conversations – this is a skill that gets better with practice – but I strongly believe that the natural bond between parents and children can be used in our favor when it comes to their media consumption choices, for as long as our kids trust our judgment and want our approval. That window of influence will reduce as they get older, so while they’re still young and long for connection with us, let’s make the most of it.

 In a nutshell:

• Ground your children in the truth of Islam and the Islamic worldview:
  • Completing the www.whyislamistrue.com course helped me immensely with this.
• Compare the Islamic worldview with the two different worldviews presented in cartoons, movies, and novels:
  • secular worldview (no God, only the laws of science)
  • supernatural worldview (superpowers and supernaturally strong human-like beings, but no Necessary Being) 
  • Islamic worldview (Allah is a Necessary Being who creates and maintains our contingent universe)

We come from a rich oral storytelling tradition teeming with fantasy elements; when done mindfully and consciously with Allah in mind,  fantasy novels can be a subtle and effective da’wah tool, inshaAllah. Muslim parents should not irrationally fear the impact of fantasy novels on our children, but navigate the genre with thoughtfulness and awareness of Islamic morals and values.

 

Related:

– [Podcast] How To Free A Jinn & Other Questions | Ustadha Raidah Shah Idil

– The Muslim Book Awards 2025

 

The post Muslim Kids Reading Fantasy Novels – Yea Or Nay? appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

the Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13| Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

“You will not enter Paradise until you believe, and you will not believe until you love one another. Shall I tell you something which, if you do it, you will love one another? Spread peace between yourselves.”
– Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, Sahih Muslim, Kitab al-Iman

A Changed Appetite

Deek still felt weary, as he hadn’t gotten much sleep before the girls showed up and – thankfully – pulled him out of that awful dream with Queen Latifah embezzling all his treasure in exchange for a drink of water and a piss. Yes, he thought grudgingly. I understand the point of the dream. I get it.

Still, the makhlama had hit the spot, and he felt well enough to work. He’d been neglecting the cryptos, and that would not do. He fired up one of his computers. The girls had been impressed with his setup here, but it wasn’t that different from what he’d had back in the closet, except that the computers were state-of-the-art, and the screens were huge

Normally, he would grab a junk food snack before sitting down to work. His favorites were the Petit Ecolier cookies: buttery biscuits topped with chocolate squares. Somehow eating classy French cookies seemed like less of a sin.

Today, he felt no such craving. Though the emotional effects of the Namer’s potion had dissipated, it seemed the physical effects persisted. Instead, he put a bunch of grapes on a plate, said bismillah, and popped one into his mouth, relishing the bright sweetness. Forget Petit Ecolier! This tiny fruit, crisp on the outside yet bursting with juice, was the ultimate dessert. It was perfectly designed by Allah, and needed no factory or packaging. It was a miracle. How had he not realized this before?

Signs of a Frenzy

Reviewing his crypto holdings, he was stunned. Everything was up massively. Some of his tokens had tripled or more since he last checked. One of the AI tokens had done a x35. Even large-cap cryptos like Bitcoin, Ethereum, and Solana were skyrocketing. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Rather than visiting the usual cryptocurrency news sites and blogs, he brought up a mainstream news aggregator website and, popping a few grapes into his mouth, looked over the headlines. He didn’t even have to search for “cryptocurrency.” It was right there in the mainstream headlines:

“‘I Sold Everything To Buy Crypto’ – Buyers Make Desperate Moves as Crypto Frenzy Spreads.”

“Crypto Market Cap Increases By Billions as Retail Money Pours In.”

“Crypto: Dangerous Bubble or New Financial Paradigm?”

Skimming the articles, he saw that enthusiasm for crypto had reached fever pitch. Middle-class working people were mortgaging homes and selling their cars to buy Bitcoin. Financial analysts and writers who, a year ago, had proclaimed that crypto was dead, were now singing its praises. One wrote:

“Crypto has made me a believer. We are witnessing the birth of a new paradigm, that of decentralization. In this new market, everyone gets rich.”

Another said:

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire generational wealth. Crypto is changing the very definition of finance. You can throw all the old rules out of the window: the day of DeFi has arrived.”

He checked the crypto Fear and Greed Index. It was at 93 out of 100, signifying a state of extreme greed, which meant that confidence in crypto was nearly total.

As a final check, he visited a website that monitored crypto inflows and outflows, meaning how much crypto was being sent to centralized exchanges to be sold, and how much was being withdrawn, to be held in long-term storage.

He saw what he expected to see. Very large holders, known in crypto parlance as whales, were quietly selling. Meanwhile, small buyers – called retail buyers – were flooding in, paying any price for the most popular tokens. The pension funds, investment funds, banks, and corporations were using the retail buyers as exit liquidity.

Deek had been through three crypto cycles, and he knew what this reckless, panicked buying signified.

The entire crypto market was about to crash.

The fall would be dramatic and steep. Even blue-chip cryptos could lose as much as 90% of their value in a bear market, while smaller tokens would become worthless.

The Exit

With shaking hands, he went through his wallets and sold all his holdings: blue chips, alts, meme coins, everything. He converted them into U.S. Dollar Coin, which itself was a type of crypto called a stablecoin, pegged to the value of the United States dollar.

Even stablecoins were not necessarily safe in a bear market, however. Deek had seen other stablecoins lose all their value, especially those that used computer algorithms to maintain their price. USDC was supposedly backed by actual, physical US dollars, but Deek didn’t want to risk it.

He sent the bulk of the USDC to a centralized exchange account he’d opened in the name of Milestone Investments, and swapped it all for Euros.

He now had $40 million in USDC in a few different wallets, and 352 million euros in the Milestone account, which at the current exchange rate equaled about 440 million dollars. If he continued to value his real estate holdings at $22 million, his net worth was now $502 million.

That was it, he was out of the crypto market. He would hold the USDC until the coming bear cycle ended and the next bull run began, which might take two years. Until then, he was done.

This was far too much money to leave sitting inert in a non-interest-bearing account. Later, he would think about how to invest it, perhaps with BAM!’s guidance.

Half a Billion

He sat back, overwhelmed. The grapes remained on the plate, mostly uneaten. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he wiped it with his t-shirt sleeve. His breath came heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon.

He slid from the chair and fell onto his knees and elbows on the marble floor. Head down, he focused on breathing. La ilaha il-Allah, he breathed, and it became a mantra. With every exhalation, la ilaha il-Allah. He remained like that until his knees became sore. He rolled up into a sitting position with his back against the wall.

Half a billion dollars. His net worth was now half a billion dollars. He could not fathom it. The numbers were like the high score on a video game. It was cool, but what could you do with it?

He needed to talk to someone. He needed guidance. But who? He could not let it be known in the community that he possessed this kind of wealth. He’d never have a moment’s peace. Someone would always be after him for a loan, partnership, or favor.

There were three options:

He could talk to his genius Puerto Rican friend who didn’t care about money and had just saved his life with a trumpet.

There was Imam Saleh, who Deek trusted implicitly, and was a wise and gentle man.

Three, Rania, his life partner, was also his best friend.

Zaid Karim was not on his list of confidantes. Deek had always had an image of the Palestinian private eye as an action hero, valiant and unstoppable, but shallow. Ever since he’d seen Zaid praying in the Namer’s backyard, however, surrounded by cats, he’d begun to understand that his portrayal of Zaid might be one-dimensional and unfair. He did not truly know the man. All the more reason, in any case, not to confide in him.

There was really only one choice in the end. He had to see his wife.

Deek’s body was a ruin whose foundation had crumbled beneath it. He let himself tip over to lie on the floor. It was a hot day outside, but the AC was running in here, and the marble was icy against his skin. Lying there, using an arm as a pillow, he tried not to think of the massive wealth he now possessed. It felt like a tiny coal burning on the outside edge of his brain, demanding that he do something. But he didn’t know what.

“What is a treasure worth,” Latifah had asked, “if you would give half to take water in, and the other half to let it out?”

The Gaza Decision

He closed his eyes and remembered the conversation between him and Zaid at the Namer’s house. “If you really want to give away a million dollars,” Zaid had said, “Give it to the charities in Gaza. The situation there is beyond dire. And purify your wealth in the process.”

Still lying on the floor, he took his phone out of his pocket and called Imam Saleh.

“As-salamu alaykum ya Deek Saghir! How is your iman today?”

“Umm… I don’t know.” The interrogatory confused him. He had to pause before continuing. “I have a question. Do you know any charities operating in Palestine, and especially in Gaza, that accept donations in cryptocurrency?”

“No one’s ever asked me that. I’ll text you some names of good charities, but I have no idea about the crypto angle. While I have you on the phone, would you be willing to do a seminar on cryptocurrency for the community? What it is, how to invest, and so on?”

Deek was not eager for publicity, but Imam Saleh was someone he deeply respected, so he simply said yes.

“Superb, mashaAllah. I’ll set it up.”

When Saleh sent the list of charities, Deek researched them. One, Helping Hand for Relief and Development, ran projects around the Muslim world, including in Palestine, and accepted crypto. They had a high rating on Charity Navigator.

He filled out a form on the HHRD donation page with his contact info, then selected USDC from a drop-down list of cryptos. From the many projects they had listed, he selected Palestine. In the amount field, he hesitated, then typed 10,000,000 and hit send. He was given a USDC address, which he copied. Opening his crypto wallet, he pasted the address and sent ten million USDC.

The little burning spot in his brain cooled. He closed his eyes, lay his head on his arm, and fell asleep to the sounds of the bubbling fountain and the susurration of the air breezing through the vent.

He woke up an hour later shivering with cold, and with a sore neck. His phone was buzzing on the floor.

“Hello?” His voice was the croak of a frog.

An Invitation Declined

“As-salamu alaykum. Is this brother Deek Saghir?” Pakistani, by the accent. Educated.

Still groggy, he wiped a bit of drool from his chin. “I guess so. That’s what my mother named me.”

“Brother Deek, did you mean to donate ten million dollars in crypto?”

“Oh.” He tucked one arm inside his shirt as a chill racked his body. “You’re from… HHRD?”

“My name is Mahboob Syed, I am the director of Helping Hand’s Los Angeles office.”

“Yes. I meant to.”

“Allahu Akbar. This is extraordinarily generous. Would it be possible for you to come to Los Angeles? We will pay for your transport.”

Deek remembered how this had impressed him when BAM! offered it. It had made him feel respected and important. Now it didn’t seem to matter.

“Why? To ask for more money?”

“Not at all. We only want to meet you.”

Deek rubbed his right cheek vigorously. “I appreciate the offer, brother Mahboob. I’ll take a rain check.”

“Very well, but I want to extend to you an invitation to see how your money is spent. I see you earmarked the money for Palestine. Some of the money will go to Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon, and some for food and medical supplies for Gaza. If you like, we will take you to the camps, and you can meet the refugees yourself. Many are widows and orphans.”

Deek sat up, rubbing his sore neck. “Wow. I could do that?”

“Absolutely. One of our donors recently threw an Eid party for the widows and orphans in the Ain el-Hilweh camp in Lebanon. Ain el-Hilwah has a high rate of extreme poverty, due to overcrowding, limited infrastructure, and lack of employment. One thing we will do with your money is create work projects to provide opportunities. For example, simply buying a sewing machine can enable a woman to work as a seamstress. With a donation like yours, we might build a small factory. You can see this with your own eyes. Often the refugees make dua’ for the donors.”

Thinking of the hardship of those people’s lives, and that the money he had earned through hard work and the blessing of Allah could make such a difference, warmth suffused Deek’s chest, and he stopped shivering.

“I’ll think about it. But spend the money as you see fit. I trust you.”

Mahboob made dua’ for Deek and his family, and they ended the call.

A Conduit

Deek sat, pensive. The thought of a room full of widows and orphans – women who had lost their husbands to Israeli violence and oppression, and children who were bereft, with no one but Allah to care for them – making dua’ for him, Deek Saghir, was humbling and almost frightening. Who was he that they should make dua’ for him? He was no one, just a fool who’d had the good fortune to get rich playing with imaginary money. They were the ones for whom the whole world should be making dua’. Yet most of the world had turned their backs on them.

He was beginning to realize what this money meant. This money had not been given to him to stay in expensive hotels and drive fancy cars. He was only meant to be a conduit. This realization gave him goosebumps.

For the first time in the last several days, he did not feel lost. Rather, he felt like a man in a cave who has just glimpsed the tiniest bit of sunlight in the distance.

He rose and made wudu, prayed ‘Asr, then changed into another of his tailored suits. This one was deep midnight blue with a subtle herringbone pattern that caught the light when he moved. The jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly, tapering to a slim waist, the fabric cool and weighty against his skin. Underneath, he chose a crisp white shirt with French cuffs, each fastened with small square cufflinks of black onyx set in silver. His belt and shoes matched—a rich espresso brown, polished to a mirror shine. The scent of his aftershave—cedar and bergamot—was subtle, like the scent of a forest lying just on the other side of a rise.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he’d lost a lot of weight. The protruding belly was gone, with only a slight rounding remaining. His face looked ten years younger. It was a welcome feeling to look in the mirror and feel good about himself for once.

Dreaming of Home

The auto detailing shop was on the other side of town. The hotel concierge provided a town car, and ten minutes later, he was in the back seat, being driven by a young black man with a fade cut, who, Deek learned during the course of the ride, was Afro-Panamanian but had never been to Panama. He wore gray slacks and a baby blue dress shirt worn thin at the shoulders.

“One day I’ll visit the land where my parents grew up,” the youth said wistfully, “I print pictures off the internet and put them in frames from the Dollar Store.”

Deek felt a surprising pang of recognition. He understood that longing completely. His family had left Iraq when he was nine years old, one step ahead of the mukhabarat – the Iraqi secret police – but carrying the vivid colors and scents of their homeland in their hearts. He remembered the narrow streets of his neighborhood, the smell of lamb grilling in the air, and the laughter of cousins in the courtyard. His family had fled tyranny and violence, and he had never returned. Yet in quiet moments, he still dreamed of it.

Now, for the first time, he realized he could go back. Not as a refugee boy clutching his father’s hand, but as a man with the means to stay in the best hotel, hire protection, and walk those streets again without fear.

When the young driver dropped him off, Deek opened his wallet. He was going to tip the youth twenty dollars, but on impulse, he took three thousand dollars from his wallet and handed it to the astonished driver. “Tell me about your trip when you get back. And buy me a Panama hat.”

Before the kid could formulate a reply, Deek was out of the car and moving on.

Goodbye Little Beauty

The Porsche was pristine. They’d cleaned it, tuned it up, and repaired the window. If they had noticed any lingering smell from Deek’s embarrassing intestinal accident, no one said anything. Deek paid the bill and took off.

He rolled up to the Porsche dealership on North Palm and was greeted by a fit and tanned young salesman in a black suit, with neatly cut blond hair and green eyes. He could have been a model if his cheeks had not been pockmarked by acne scars.

The salesman had barely introduced himself as Denny when Deek said, “I want to sell my car.”

Denny looked it over. “This is a classic model. You looking for something newer?”

“I don’t want to buy. Just sell.”

“Anything wrong with it?”

“It’s cursed.”

Denny blinked. “It’s a lemon? I’m sorry, we wouldn’t be interested in -”

“Nothing like that. It runs like a dream. But violence follows it.”

The salesman laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Can our shop check it out?”

“Go for it.”

The dealership lounge had a box of donuts on the table and a selection of fruits. Deek ignored the donuts and took a banana. He browsed a copy of the Los Angeles Times, skimming the international news. The articles about the Middle East carried a heavy pro-Israeli slant. It was undisguised and flatly racist. Disgusted, he threw the rag back onto the table.

Denny returned. “You were right. The car’s in good shape. We can offer forty thousand.”

Deek laughed. “It’s worth triple that.”

“I can go up to fifty.”

Deek’s face flushed. He was suddenly fed up with Americans and their deceptions. “Give me the keys. I’ll give it away to one of my friends before I sell it to you thieves.”

Denny handed over the keys reluctantly, and Deek walked away.

“Eighty-five!” Denny called after him. “Final offer!”

Deek whirled and pointed at him. “You should have started with that.”

Denny trotted up to him, grinning. “Hey, you’re Arab, right?”

“So?”

“I’ve visited lots of Arab countries. Negotiating is part of your culture. Tawwel baalak.” He held his hand palm up, fingers bunched together, and moved the hand up and down.

The use of the Arabic phrase and hand gesture, both meaning “take it easy,” made Deek snort with laughter. He studied the globe-trotting salesman for a moment, then thrust the keys back at him. “Make it ninety and you can write it up.”

Before he left, he paused beside the Porsche and ran his hand over the gleaming black roof. What a gorgeous little car. Machinery, art, and adrenaline wrapped in one small package. “Goodbye, little beauty,” he said. “I’m sorry I said you were cursed. Tawwel baalak, ya habibti.” In saying this, he meant the phrase in its literal sense, which was something like “lengthen your mind.” May the little car have a long and productive life.

New Ride, New Mission

He walked across the street to the Carmax used car lot and selected a two-year-old, twilight blue Kia Sportage. The compact, Korean-made SUV seated five people and had a V-6 engine and cloth seats. It was solid but definitely not a luxury vehicle, and actually rather ordinary looking. Which was what he wanted. Hopefully, no one would shoot him in the face over a used Kia.

He paid for it with his Milestone Investments card and drove away, loving the high perspective and smooth ride.

He parked under the shade of a tree in the Walmart lot nearby, and called Lubna.

“Hello, Deek. You’re not coming by again, are you? I just got off work, I’m tired.”

“As-salamu alaykum my beautiful sister. You know what, your family is very lucky to have you. And I see how hard you work. I admire you a lot.”

“Deek, tell me really.” She sounded genuinely worried. “Is there something wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “There are lots of things wrong with me. Speaking of your job, have you given notice yet?”

“Should I? Are things underway?”

“You need to get them underway.”

“Me? I’m just the principal.”

Tasks for Lubna

“I need you to take an active role,” Deek explained. “You’ve already been paid, after all. First, set up a board of directors. I’ll be the board president, you’re the vice president, and I would like Imam Saleh to be on it. We’ll need a Treasurer and Secretary as well, that makes five, and let’s say two more, for a total of seven. You might consider Safaa, my wife’s cousin, and a lawyer would be good too. But it’s up to you. Once you’ve done that, file for non-profit status.”

“Hold on, I need to write this down.”

Deek gave her a minute, then she said, “Anything else?”

“Yes. Start looking for teachers. We’ll begin next school year. I want people who are enthusiastic and malleable. Definitely no one who’s stuck on old-world methods. Also, we’ll need a curriculum. I’m sure there’s a lot more. We need someone with experience running a school.”

“Hold on. I’m writing.” A few moments later, she said, “What will you be doing while I’m handling all this?”

“Looking for a building. We need a property zoned for school use, or that can be rezoned. It should have plenty of land for future growth.”

“I feel like you’re entrusting me with a lot. I don’t know if I can do all this. You might -” her voice broke, and Deek sat up straight as he realized for the first time that Lubna was frightened. “You might have picked the wrong one,” she finished.

“No, my dear sister. I picked exactly the right one. You are smart and capable, and you have a huge heart. I absolutely know you can do it. I’m honored to be working with you. Don’t forget, the first task is to pick the board of directors. You can delegate to them and consult with them.”

“Deek, come on.”

“What?”

“Who are you? You seem like a different person. Why are you being so nice to me?”

This made Deek cry. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly. Tears came to his eyes, and he put his face in his hands, trying not to sob, but he couldn’t help himself, and a formless sound escaped. It was embarrassing. Now that the Namer’s potion had worn off, his emotions were like a herd of mustangs running roughshod through his heart.

“Deek? What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“I’m sorry I was so unkind to you that my being nice makes you think I’m dying.”

“Okay, big bro. Stop or you’ll make me cry too. I don’t understand what’s happening with you, but I can tell that you’ve genuinely changed. The way you’re acting, this is the big brother I always wished for. I used to make dua’ to Allah to change you, did you know that?”

This wounded Deek. He began to weep in earnest and ended the call, so that Lubna would not hear. He put his forehead on the steering wheel. When he was done, one side of his face was streaked with tears, and the bandage on his left eye was wet.

New Vision

He went into the Walmart, washed up in the bathroom, then bought gauze and medical tape, facial tissues, and a sports drink. Back in the car, he gingerly removed the bandage, shielding his eye from the brightness of the afternoon sunlight. He tested his injured eye, blinking several times, then slowly removed his hand. He looked around at the mostly empty lot, and the scattered trees providing oval-shaped blobs of shade. His eye was fine. There was no pain. He looked in the rearview mirror. There was no indication of injury.

Just as the Namer’s potion had healed the rest of his injuries with its final burst of potency, it had healed his eye. He let out a big breath, then took a swig from the sports drink.

The girls had told him that Rania’s schedule was 3 to 3. It was now six o’clock in the afternoon. He would go visit her at her job. The last time he did that, she snapped at him and told him not to bother her. Deek needed to know where he stood with her now. Had anything really changed? It was time to find out.

First, though, he needed to clear his thinking and his heart. For that, he needed the river.

* * *

[Part 21 will be published next week inshaAllah]

 

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Pieces of a Dream | Part 1: The Cabbie and the Muslim Woman

Gravedigger: A Short Story

The post Moonshot [Part 20] – New Eyes, New Mission Copy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Congresswoman Katherine Clark makes clear that her party is still unwilling to challenge Israeli war crimes.

Obeying Israeli orders doesn't bring safety.

Watching from Australia, I feel both an elation at his win as well as exhaustion at the suspicion brown Muslims inevitably experience in the public sphere

• Get our breaking news email, free app or daily news podcast

He eats biryani with his hands, references Bollywood, is an unapologetic Muslim and a progressive. He has also done something politically risky for a mainstream candidate: been vocal for Palestine. Zohran Mamdani proudly embodies what I have often felt alienated in: my own positioning as a Muslim progressive – one that has been treated as an oxymoron at best, or suspect at worst.

From Australia, watching him feels like having my own personality projected large. I feel both an elation at his reception and win as Democratic candidate for mayor of New York as well as exhaustion at the double bind and suspicion brown Muslims inevitably experience in the public sphere. It’s echoed here in Australia with the treatment of the first hijab‑wearing senator Fatima Payman and deputy Greens leader Mehreen Faruqi.

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The far-right commentator didn’t pull his punches when discussing his bigoted views on current events

• How Charlie Kirk turned campuses into cultural battlefields – and ushered in Trump’s assault on universities

• Charlie Kirk’s death raises fears of ‘beginning of a darker chapter’ for US violence

Charlie Kirk, the far-right commentator and ally of Donald Trump, was killed on Wednesday doing what he was known for throughout his career – making incendiary and often racist and sexist comments to large audiences.

If it was current and controversial in US politics, chances are that Kirk was talking about it. On his podcasts, and on the podcasts of friends and adversaries, and especially on college campuses, where he would go to debate students, Kirk spent much of his adult life defending and articulating a worldview aligned with Trump and the Maga movement. Accountable to no one but his audience, he did not shy away in his rhetoric from bigotry, intolerance, exclusion and stereotyping.

If I see a Black pilot, I’m going to be like, boy, I hope he’s qualified.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 23 January 2024

If you’re a WNBA, pot-smoking, Black lesbian, do you get treated better than a United States marine?

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 8 December 2022

Happening all the time in urban America, prowling Blacks go around for fun to go target white people, that’s a fact. It’s happening more and more.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 19 May 2023

If I’m dealing with somebody in customer service who’s a moronic Black woman, I wonder is she there because of her excellence, or is she there because of affirmative action?

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 3 January 2024

If we would have said that Joy Reid and Michelle Obama and Sheila Jackson Lee and Ketanji Brown Jackson were affirmative action picks, we would have been called racists. Now they’re coming out and they’re saying it for us … You do not have the brain processing power to otherwise be taken really seriously. You had to go steal a white person’s slot to go be taken somewhat seriously.

– The Charlie Kirk Show, 13 July 2023

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